


Muffled

by Dirty_Corza, Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Hand Feeding, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 16:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20049190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: Nothing's the same as he remembers. Everything’s a blur, filtered through time, quiet and calm with safe, soft edges. All the dark memories have been made gentle, in the light of their new days. All that’s left, is muffled.





	Muffled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qwerty_Hargreeves_25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qwerty_Hargreeves_25/gifts).

> For Baby. 
> 
> Happy Birthday, qwerty_hargreeves_25

* * *

* * *

There are no markers of their childhood that stand in contrast as particularly bright. No family holidays, no birthday parties, nothing so significant. What Ben can remember are the little things; sweet and simple memories that play like a fractured camera real behind the lavender of his pale eyelids. 

The color of the sunlight where it poured through the windows of the attic, catching the ruffled dust in a cataclysm of shimmer and sparkle. The family of sparrows that nested under the weather vane. The way the warmth of his sheets smelled, fresh and clean, as he slid into them to end another day. 

Nothing's the same as he remembers. Everything’s a blur, filtered through time, quiet and calm with safe, soft edges. All the dark memories have been made gentle, in the light of their new days. All that’s left, is muffled. 

The kitchen table seemed so much bigger when they were ten before Reginald had finalized them as lean little machines, made for combat and codependency. The paint had been crisper then; a cleaner, brighter white, no stains or scars or memories. The pulpy, sticky orange juice had yet to be spilled, on the far left corner where Five sat between Four and Six, intolerant of their shenanigans. The resulting watermark had not yet stretched to shape the profile image of Abraham Lincoln, and his notable facial hair had yet to be carved into place with the dull edge of a butter knife in number Two’s hand, between Reginald turning pages of his crinkly newspaper.

Things were easier when they were young, before the knew their fathers intent, before the missions and the madness. When they were little and pleasing father was as simple as learning how to body slam a grown man with your Eldritch Monster intestines, or block a punch, or kicking the cigarette straight out a criminals mouth. There are so many memories in this kitchen, and so few of them remain in blood. The smell of blueberry muffins is exactly the same. The way the light spills in slants of pink and blue through the kitchen window, that’s the same. 

All this, Ben thinks, in the millisecond before Klaus sinks into him. 

***

Diego leans against the kitchen doorframe as he takes in the sight. Klaus fucking Ben, it was becoming familiar, a regular presence in his life and yet, each time he found something new to appreciate. Like the way Klaus’ thrusts made the whole table shudder, each one threatening to topple the carefully arranged pedestal of blueberry muffins. When he breathes deep, he can smell it, too. Each thrust sending another wave of _ sex-lube-sweet _like a siren song, making his mouth water as he can almost taste it.

There was something compelling about them, something strangely calling. The top muffin, golden brown and fat, held it’s placed and Diego wanted very viscerally to watch it fall. To watch it give in and tumble and spill. His feet carried him across the creaking floorboards, and Klaus followed his every step with a keen, gimlet gaze. When Diego’s thighs met the edge of the table, it was nothing at all to reach out and flick that fucking muffin straight off it’s throne. It rolled, dislodging the others, and spilling them all across the tabletop. Klaus laughed, driving a little harder against Ben. 

“Look, Benny,” he grinned, digging his fingers deep into Ben’s wild hair. “Diego’s brought you breakfast.” He pulled Ben back, just far enough to drag his tongue across Ben’s smooth, pale face. Ben turned to kiss him, mouth open and panting, but Klaus was already pushing him back down, face-first into the table. 

Straight into that fucking _ muffin _. 

And for a brief moment, the world lost all it’s color but for the sticky purple of the berries, and the yellow of the crumbling cake. Diego couldn’t look away, as the soft pastry gave against the press of Ben’s cheek, both helpless beneath Klaus. He shook Ben gently, fingers curled in a deep tangle in his hair. “_ Good boys say thank you.” _

***

Diego plants both hands on his end of the table and lowers himself down, so he’s face to face with Ben. Klaus thinks, in the heart-beat span of silence, that Ben won’t say it, but there it is - spilling out on a sputter and a hot puff of breath. 

_ “Thank you.” _Ben’s eyes are shut tight, and he’s pressing into Klaus everywhere their skin touches. His arms are tucked up under his chest and he could push himself up, out of the mess, but he doesn’t and Klaus can’t help but laugh into every thrust. 

Diego smiles and pushes himself back up. “Open your eyes, Benny,” he says, casual and clean, as he rounds the table to crouch, eye to eye with Ben. “Come on, baby. Open your eyes.” 

Klaus pulls at Ben’s hair until he’s forced to curl his spine and follow the lead. “That’s it baby boy,” he sings, kicking Ben’s feet wider apart, so he can get a little deeper, take him just a little slower. “Open your eyes for _ Daddy _.” 

Diego hisses through his teeth and Ben - Ben opens his eyes. His boys are easy, Klaus thinks - they’re so beautiful and easy. He slips a hand under Ben’s hip so he can pull him back to meet his thrusts, leaning just enough to the side that he can see Ben’s face properly, the little bubble of spit bursting on his lip as he exhales, slipping and dripping down his chin to join the mess beneath him.   


“_ Good boy _,” Diego says, and Klaus taught him that. Klaus taught Diego a whole new language, and Diego turned it all serpent tongued like a snake charmer. 

Ben is fucking _ charmed _. 

Diego’s hand sneaks across the table and Klaus---Klaus sucks in a sharp, tight breath as he watches him thumb a broken piece of destroyed muffin into Ben’s mouth. Ben takes it, teeth and tongue dragging over Diego’s fingertip, and Klaus can fucking feel it like a phantom, dragging across everything he is. 

****

It should be sweet, the muffin being thumbed into his mouth. It was what he loved most about blueberry muffins, after all, the sticky sweet that melted on his tongue. It was sweet, sweet and moist and sticky, but that wasn't what had him chasing Diego's thumb with his tongue, meeting his eye with a silent plea for more. Under that sticky sweet was the taste of Diego, and Ben wanted more. More of Diego, more of the muffin, until he couldn't tell them apart. Just the thought had him shuddering and moaning louder with Klaus' thrusts, unable to do more than hope Diego would have pity on his _ good boy _ and give him what he wanted.

Ben wants to choke. Ben wants to lose the taste in the back of this throat. Ben wants to drown, just a little, beneath their touch. He wants to fucking _ choke on it. _He struggles to push himself up, but Diego pushes him back down with a gentle, but insistent hand. “C’mon baby. Aren’t you hungry?” 

"I- _ yes, _ " the answer tumbles out of Ben's mouth, breathless, eager, _ messy _ as he lets his face be pressed down, flat against the sticky-moist-soft of the muffin where it comes apart against his lips. And when Diego presses further, he doesn't fight it. With Diego's gentle insistence, the soft against his lips becomes _ rough _. Rough like Diego's teeth against his skin, rough like Klaus' thrusts as he fucks him over the table, rough like the feelings twisting in his gut. Rough like being fucked by his brothers who love each other, and loving them in his own particular way.

They weren’t taught how to care for themselves, they weren’t taught how to care at all. They don’t know how to love in any right way - but they know this. They know eachother. Klaus’ palms know the shape of Ben’s hips, and Ben is familiar with the heat of Diego’s tongue and they _ know _eachother. 

For all that Klaus is rattling the table, and slamming Ben against the edge, his hands are gentle. And for all that Diego has a firm hand on the back of his neck, holding Ben in place - his other hand is petting Ben’s hair, soft calloused fingers brushing his skin like feathers. 

He leads Ben to stretch, until his face is at the edge of the table and then he---he dragges his thumb along Ben’s bottom lip. It’s hard to keep his eyes open - it’s like looking into the sun, but Diego’s hands are there, petting at his face as he brushes his cock over Ben’s tongue and Ben takes it, fingers curling over the open fly of Diego’s jeans. He can’t---He can’t move, not with the way Klaus is holding him in place, and so all he can offer is an open mouth and a soft tongue. Diego laughs, thumbing up some of the come-sticky, crumbling muffin and smearing it over Ben’s mouth. He’s beautiful when he laughs, and he laughs as he fucks the muffin straight across Ben’s tongue. 

“Ahhh---- _ fuck _.” The stutter of Klaus hips is telling, and Ben can feel the weight of Klaus hand come to rest over Diego’s, where he has his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Ben’s neck and the tangible weight - that’s what loving them feels like. Heavy, and secure. 

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to wish qwerty_hargreeves_25 a happy birthday in the comments.


End file.
